One-Eyed Hound
by Pandean
Summary: Jin was aware of the monstrousness of the Bolton Bastard ever since his icy eyes took hold of her. But Jin is used to dealing with monsters-she herself is one. To gain revenge on the family that made her a hound, she would have to become their loyal beast...and devour them from within. *AU where one of Ramsay's 'bedwarmers' helps plot the downfall of the Boltons"


**AN: Hi! I had this idea in my head for a while now, wondering about characters behind the scenes of ASOIAF and GOT who were not mentioned; the millions of servants, maids, etc. I personally find Ramsay and interesting (and terrifying) character and I also love Sansa and while I didn't like the way the TV show put them together, the ending of the whole thing was satisfying...so I had this idea that perhaps Sansa had more friends in Winterfell than she thought...and that some of them were there, dealing with Ramsay and plotting his downfall, for a long time before her too. So that's where this idea comes from, please tell me what you think!**

Chapter 1: The Stable Girl

Ever since coming to work at the Dreadfort, Jin knew three things. One; Ramsay Snow was a monster with a sadistic taste in pleasure. Two; He tended to kill the girls that bored him. Three; In flight, Horses were always surer than men.

She'd gotten word that her father had died, the man had worked in the stables of the Dreadfort for a good part of his life and had passed down his knowledge of horses to his daughter. Partly because the man was a genius with the animals and he didn't want it to go to waste when he passed. But mostly because he feared Jin would never be taken to wife.

She was not a pretty girl. Long and lanky, with small breasts and tanned muscular arms. Her orange-red hair hung in braids, covering the side of her face where her eye was simply an empty socket. Her remaining eye was the color of slate. She couldn't cook to save her life, was more comfortable in men's wear, and at seven-and-ten was not gifted with a gilded tongue or a steady sewing hand. Her father's tutelage was more to make sure that if he were to die, she would not become a whore. Not that the whorehouses and brothels would take her. Who'd want to fuck a bitch with one-eye after all?

The stables at the Dreadfort were well enough and the horses well trained, she had the same touch with the animals as her father did, so even though Roose Bolton had expected a son when his horse master mentioned an heir, at the end he could find little fault with her work. She ate little, slept in the stables, and kept to herself.

At least, that was until his bastard son came riding back into the Dreadfort one day. Jin had heard the stories of the man; big and brutish, with eyes like chips of grey ice. When doing her wash with the serving women, she heard their nervous titters about his _games_ with the girls that bored him in the woods. She knew about his hounds and how they got their names.

Still, the horse he was rode in was bloody and lathered, panting in an attempt to catch it's breath, and when he dismounted she was obliged to come up and take the reins.

His eyes, which had been focused on the kennelmaster's daughter, a girl whom Jin found rather distasteful, were now locked onto her own.

"Who the fuck are you?" It was a better greeting than she'd expected.

"The stable master, my Lord." Her single eye flicked up to study his face. The smile he was wearing was cold and she noticed his body oriented slightly to the shivering mess of a-yes it was a man-behind him. She wasn't entirely sure what to think about that.

"Liar. The stable master was a man...Wern or something."

"Turmwyk," Jin answered. "Is dead. I've taken his place."

The Bastard of Bolton laughed in her face, his men joining in, but she stood unblinking. He was just like any other predator. If he caught a whiff of fear from her, he'd be salivating, plotting how to have her for dinner. She wasn't going to let that happen. "You're a woman."

"I wasn't aware having a cunt made one unable to work with horses, my Lord." She regretted the words as soon as they came out. Being stoic was one thing, being _cheeky_ was a whole other. She steeled herself for the bastard's wrath but found it never came.

The dreaded kennelmaster's daughter had come out and sidled to her side, an arm wrapped around her waist like they were the best of friends. "Poor Jin, she doesn't have a lot of friends here. She snaps just like the bitches of yours, My Lord. Perhaps we can show her the way, hmm?" Myranda gave Jin a smug, gloating look and Jin tried very hard not to vomit or otherwise kill her.

It wouldn't have been fair to say she was plotting Myranda's death from the time she'd arrived at the Dreadfort. No, Myranda had been the one to break the news of her father and thus Myranda had been on Jin's death list for much longer. While she had remarkable control of herself-one had to in order to take care of horses-Jin did occasionally let her temper get the best to her. No, temper wasn't it. Temper wasn't something that made you stay up at night, thinking of dozens of different ways for the same person to die. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, painfully, with pleasure, sometimes without even knowing it was in store at all.

If the stable boy with the doughy face and the bad skin had known that before he tried to have his way with her, he'd probably still be alive right now and not in the pig feed. Sometimes sleeping in the stables had it's benefits.

Ramsay smiled again, that same chilling smile that made her very aware that she was in the presence of a monster. "We shall, then, shouldn't we? I would love to name a pup after her. I heard we have a new little."

That was the moment Jin began planning.

Over the course of the next few days, she worked hard with the horses, training the ones that were best to her touch, trying to get the beast of Ramsay's under control. By day the eyes of the bastard and his whore lingered on the back of her neck. Every so often Myranda would waltz over, telling her how she should take a break and view the new litter of dogs. Jin would spit on the ground and stomp the mud with her boot (pretending it was Myranda's pretty breasts and her boot was a spearhead) and tell her that she was busy.

By day she was the diligent, hardworker that, while not likable, wasn't completely hated either. She took her meals with the other servants sometimes, noticed the pitying glances thrown her way, ignored the baudy comments about her body by the men, and kept her head down, ears sharp.

By night she snuck out of the stables in the hour of the wolf, planning a course through the woods and planting thinks along the trail. First a tunic, a pair of leather breeches, and some good boots. Second, a stash of knives and the bow and arrows she brought with her to the Dreadfort. Third; a tunic covered in lambs blood which she smeared through the rocks and trees for almost an hour before the sun came up.

When Ramsay made a toast to the dedication of their new stable master and she tasted the sweet drug in her ale, she knew the time had come. When she fell asleep-not even brains could defeat the effects of nightshade-she was not surprised to wake up naked in the stables, Ramsay standing over her and Myranda giggling with glee.

"Run," he told her.

And she did. The brisk morning air pierced her naked body as she stumbled through the forest, the nightshade still somewhere in her system. But even in her drug addled mind, she remembered the course she'd planned and memorized for nights and when she stumbled upon the first tree with the clothes to cover her naked self and the boots to shield her bloodied feet, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Generally the prey got a headstart before the hounds began to hunt. She wasn't sure how long, but she figured that Ramsay was not the type of man who would find it satisfying to release a doe only to track it down for slaughter ten minutes later. So taking a quick break to catch her breath and slashing water onto her face, she continued on through the lightening woods.

The calls of the birds above were eerie in the silence and she heard foxes yelping out in the gray dawn. But the baying of the hounds had yet to come, so she followed her path to her next destination, reached into the small dip in the ground and shuddered with delight at the feel of the weapons in her hands.

When the baying of the hounds did start, that shudder ran through her again, tingling all the way to her abdomen and further. She might've been prey, but she wasn't the only one being hunted.

So she went into the trees, high enough that the leaves camoflauged her body, that if she wanted she could jump to the next one and the next with little worry or fear. And she waited.

After the death of her mother, Jin's father instilled three rules deep down inside his daughter even as he wished they were knives instead. _But killing the kinslayer would only curse him as one too._ The memory tasted copper in her mouth. Truly, she hadn't meant to kill her mother. Scare her? Yes. But she'd been seven and still had both eyes and a pleading, childlike urge to be loved and cared for and how was she to know her actions would lead to the death of her mother?

First he took her eye. _So you know the proper force to use._

Then he made her watch men beat and rape a woman half to death. _So you know the crimes of monsters._

Then, finally, he made her finish the woman herself. _So you know you, yourself are a monster too._

The baying hounds got louder and she could see the dogs crashing through the undergrowth in her raven's eye view. She notched one arrow into her bow and let it loose. The bitch yelped as it was struck and whined in pain. She let herself feel nothing as she knocked down another, and another, until the mirthful voices of Ramsay and Myranda were confused and utterly lost.

She waited once more, until the bitch-she didn't mean the hounds there-was at the base of her tree and looking up and around, calling her name in that mocking sweet voice that she so wanted to tear her throat out for.

An arrow flew and hit the bitch in the shoulder. She stumbled, looking around in wild confusion. Ramsay had stopped his hunt, a thoughtful look across his face as his once-favorite whore stumbled in pain, calling out, fear lacing her voice.

Another arrow, this time through the knee. The bitch fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Jin let herself have a mirthful chuckle as she finally rolled over to catch sight of her in the trees. She screamed for Ramsay, screamed for her monster to save her, but her monster was watching this new game with captive eyes.

Jin leapt from her position in the tree and down to the forest floor.

"Set the hounds on her!" Myranda screamed. "You promised you'd name one after her! For me!"

Jin circled Myranda, nudging her broken knee with her foot until the girl screamed. She took the long, thin knife from her side and twirled it between her fingers.

"Ramsay!" Myranda screamed. "You promised you'd name one!"

Jin started to make work on the girl, slowly cutting the seams of her green tunic open at the belly, letting her knife trail across her, just kissing the skin.

She was begging now and if Jin was a bigger person, she might've felt sorry for her. Sad to say, she really wasn't.

"So I did," Ramsay said, a cruel smile on his lips. Or was it one of pleasure? Jin had a feeling they were one in the same. "Rip her!"

The dogs tore the pleading woman apart and Jin stood back, admiring the handiwork. "Are you going to name one after her?" she asked, voice dripping with boredom. She felt Ramsay's eyes sizing her up.

"No, she wasn't a good enough hunt."

"Pity," Jin said, wiping the blood from her knife. "I'd quite like a pup named Myranda."

"And what is _your_ name, my lady?" The title was mocking.

"Jin," she said.

"Come forward, Jin."

She did so, knife still in her hand. The man seized her by her shoulders with surprising strength, pushing the braids back, staring down her body, at her breasts, her cunt, the empty socket where her eye should be.

He smiled again, ice-chipped eyes glittering. "How about you become a hound, Jin? I've always wanted a brutal, one-eyed hound."

She allowed herself to smile. "I'd like that very much, my Lord."

Before her mother died, she used to tell her stories about the Northmen who ruled these lands. About honor, duty, about the Old Ways and the Starks of Winterfell, the Boltons of the Dreadfort. Noble, brutal, honorable, bloody. It was no surprise that when a Bolton man forced his way into their home, claiming their father couldn't pay a gambling debt, she was raped so bloody that she went mad. Jin hadn't meant to kill her mother; just scare her in the attempt to make her stop rambling and screaming. The idea that if she put her own self in danger, then the compassion and other womanly instincts her mother had for her would kick in. Surely her love for her rivaled her madness.

Jin no longer catered to such fantasies. To take down monsters, she would have to become one.

She had a long, long way to go.


End file.
